


And Who Are You (When The Stars Go Out?)

by littleramblings



Series: For Age Is Opportunity [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleramblings/pseuds/littleramblings
Summary: “You are not a burden,” Spock had told him once, stretched out on a rock at the far end of the lake. The sun had been setting, and the orange glow cast warm fragments of light across the still water. Jim hadn't responded, but he didn't need to. Spock's arm had been only centimetres away from Jim's, the slightest movement would cause their skin to brush, and Spock would sense that in that moment, perhaps not all was well, but it was enough.Or, it's been years since they first met. They're family now, but family comes with its own burdens. Hogwarts au sequel  ft. dysfunctional mothers and learning to accept the things you cannot change.





	And Who Are You (When The Stars Go Out?)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny (But In Ourselves). You don't have to read that to understand this, but it would be beneficial. Also because i'm more proud of that one than I am this, but at this point this universe is my guilty pleasure so if I can churn out more, you betcha I will.

The scarlet steam train waiting on Platform 9 ¾ was, after five years, a sight that lifted a heavy weight from Spock’s shoulders. All around there was chatter, excited students eager to reunite with friends and anxious first years, anticipating the long journey ahead. Spock saw many people that he recognised, but none who held his attention for too long. His mother had left him by the entrance of King's Cross, the busy tube entrance the perfect place to apparate in and out without being noticed by the morning commuters.

 

“Write regularly,” she had reminded him, hands folded neatly in front of her. “Work hard. And, if you're not too busy, do reconsider going for those extracurriculars.” Her hands had twitched, as if she had meant to reach out and touch his face but thought better of it. “I'll miss you.”

 

“And I, you.” Spock had replied, hands clasping the handle to his case tightly.

 

After exchanging the ta'al, Spock turned, talking the tunnel which would lead to the station escalator. Several steps later he turned his head, but whether it was due to the swarming crowd or the punctual departure of his mother, he could not see the familiar head of dark hair he knew so well. Now, making his way down the platform, Spock couldn't help but wonder whether he would have even noticed, would have bothered to look back in the first place, had it not been for a certain friend's preoccupation with his emotional development.

 

And there he was – Spock saw Jim leaning against one of the stone pillars, smiling brightly and chatting to Carina Lestrange. An unpleasant feeling churned in Spock's stomach, but Jim looked up, shining blue eyes finding Spock's almost immediately. The smile on his face widened, and after saying something quickly to his fellow Slytherin, Jim began to make his way through the crowd towards Spock.

 

“Hello, Jim.” Spock said, choosing not to think on the level of fondness he heard in his own voice.

 

Jim reached out a hand, clasping Spock's shoulder. “Hey, you.”

 

His grip was firm, grounding. Spock almost closed his eyes against it, the feeling in his stomach fading to the faintest pang. Piercing the air, the harsh whistle of the train alerted them to the fact that the great clock had ticked a minute closer to eleven.

 

Jim squeezed Spock's shoulder gently before letting his hand fall back to his side, fingertips sliding against the length of Spock's cloaked arm. “Just in time, then.” he murmured.

 

“Yes,” Spock said, just as soft. “It appears we are.”

 

For a moment, Jim's gaze didn't leave Spock's, the two of them locked in a private moment. Private, until somebody clapped a firm hand against Jim's back.

 

“New year, Captain!”

 

Chekov was grinning beside them, taller now than he had been before, mop of curly blonde hair longer and messier (though, Jim would argue, deliberately styled that way). His accent was just as heavy as it had been the last time Spock had heard it, and as Jim greeted him and Spock nodded respectfully, the station began to thin out. A thick cloud of black smoke began to curl above their heads, the engine to the express heating up in preparation. “How 'vas your summer?”

 

Jim glanced at Spock, brief enough to be missed if Spock had been anyone but who he is.

 

“It was good,” Jim smiled. “Iowa's just Iowa, you know. Travelled a bit, went to a party at the house of this kid I went to elementary school with. Accidentally made his old tree house explode – MACUSA weren't too happy about that.” he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “All good now, though. And you?”

  
  


Chekov beamed, and soon enough the three were slowly making their way towards an empty carriage as he told them stories of visiting his grandparents in Russia, of how his mother was redecorating their Camden flat, and how his uncle had gifted him a new cat – poor old Hermes was, unfortunately, getting too old and too fat to keep travelling between London and Scotland multiple times a year. The new offender, Mort, was a blue Russian and meowed loudly in her cage.

  
  


“She doesn't like it,” Chekov explained, hauling his cases into the rails above their heads. “Has been free to roam around the house and garden all summer, but has now, like, two feet of space.”

  
  


“Aw,” said Jim, leaning to stick two fingers between the bars to stroke the cat. “I like her. She can come to the dungeons whenever. Yes you can,” he cooed to the cage, as dignified as any person can be when fussing something on four legs.

  
  


Spock, who had been mostly silent during this exchange (and who had now secured both his own and Jim's luggage in the over-head compartments), sat across from the animal. The two regarded each other curiously, before the corner of Spock's mouth curved up in a small smile. The cat purred.

  
  


Jim, who had noticed that the animal's attention was no longer solely his own, watched the exchange with fascination. Spock met Jim's eyes, Jim raised an eyebrow, and Spock returned the gesture with a look that Jim had grown to read quite easily. _Later._

  
  


Just then the door to their compartment slid open, revealing Uhura and Bones, each of whom carried their owls with care and tugged their cases behind in a haphazard manner. Uhura's had seen better days, held together by an inordinate amount of spellwork. No magic had managed to remove the stained corners from a zonko's exploding ink pellet had done just that last Christmas, nor repair the cracked leather left from when she had smuggled a bludger from the games room down to the pitch for one of their own practises. The fraying stitch was far more mundane to explain away, a mix of lack of care and simple over excitement taking its toll on the battered object.

  
  


“Final year, guys!” she exclaimed, placing Lilah's cage on the seat before shoving her own case onto the rail overhead.

  
  


“For you,” noted Spock, half raising a ta'al.

  
  


“Augh, I know.” she groaned, flopping down next to him. “We need to make this the best year yet. You guys are forbidden to think about how you're going to survive without me, at least until after the Easter holidays.”

  
  


Jim breathed out a laugh along with the others, but in truth it had rarely left his mind these past few months that, by June, everything would change. Five years, now to enter their sixth, together had made them closer than just a team. To Jim, and he was confident to assume it was the same for each of his friends, they were a family. His family.

  
  


Something nibbled against the hand he was resting on the arm of his seat. Looking down, Bones' screech owl looked up at him, eyes wide.

  
  


“Hey,” breathed Jim softly, quiet enough not to be heard over Bones and Uhura complaining about their upcoming workloads.

  
  


The owl tilted its head ever so slightly, large eyes twinkling. He felt like it was communicating with him somehow, sending a silent message that it'd work out. Jim looked up, and from across the apartment he locked eyes with Spock. Home, relief, comfort filled his mind, just as the sun poked out from behind the heavy skies. It was their last year together, and he was going to make sure it was one that they'd never forget.

  
  


-*-

  
  


“You will each have ten minutes to prepare a short presentation on the uses and effects of your given potion, and how to identify it.” Slughorn flicked his wand, curved script appearing on the papers of each student. Spock looked down at his, black ink shaping itself into _Amortentia_. Beside him, Jim had been given _Wolfsbane._ McCcoy _, Felix Felicis._

  
  


“It is important that you use your time wisely, do not let yourself to be distracted,” Slughorn allowed himself a hearty chuckle before continuing. “Today begins your theory, next lesson you will put into practise what you have learned and begin to brew your first batch. Points will be awarded for effort, more so for those of you who succeed.” Glancing at his pocket watch, Slughorn beamed up at the class, now a mix of excitement, nerves, and anticipation. “You may now begin.”

  
  


“Are you kidding me,” Jim muttered under his breath, flicking through the pages of _Advanced Potion Making_ before jerking his hand away quickly. “ow, _bitch_.”

  
  


In his haste, Jim had cut his finger on the corner of the page. Bones glanced up from where he was invested in his own book, quill paused in its scratching. “Suck it up,” he grumbled, without venom. There was an old rooted affection to his voice, and after pausing to make sure his friend wasn't going to bleed all over their text books, he continued his cross-reference between _Luck and Loss: The Dangers of Magically induced Victory_ and _Potions Through The Ages, Vol.1._

  
  


Jim sucked his finger, scowling at the page in front of him. Wolfsbane was insanely difficult to brew, half the ingredients highly dangerous if used in the wrong order, and to top it off, possibly the most complex and time consuming concoction to have been selected. Jim was not one to back down from a challenge, but after leaning forwards to catch _Everklena_ scrawled on the parchment of the Slytherin in front of him, he couldn't help but feel just a little hard done by.

  
  


“Veh ash na' wuh wak, Jim.” Spock spoke softly, the boy's eyes remaining fixed on his own text.

  
  


_One step at a time._ The sounds of Spock's mother tongue soothed Jim, as it always did to hear the elf speak his own language. Jim picked up his quill, reaching down to pull out his book on magical creatures from his bag. Uses and effects, Jim could do. He could probably bullshit a few inches of parchment in his sleep – it hadn't been too many months since he had proofread Uhura's dissertation proposal, _Werewolf Reform And The Dangers of Magical Creature Categorisation._ How, in his moment of panic, had he forgotten that?

  
  


Jim breathed out, shaking his bad finger. “U' kwon-sum, Spock. As Always.”

  
  


Spock shook his head, soft smile playing across his features. “I'm beginning to believe that you are deliberately pronouncing things wrong to get a rise from me.”

  
  


Jim bit back a grin, tapping his quill against the inkwell. “Sos'eh.”

  
  


“Shh,” hissed a Ravenclaw, two rows behind.

  
  


All that could be heard was the turning of pages and the frantic note taking of ink on paper. Feeling lighter than he did only moments ago, Jim began to write.

  
  


-*-

  
  


“ _Amortentia,_ from the Latin meaning love held, is believed by many to be the most powerful love potion in the wizarding world.” Spock began, poised perfectly with his hands behind his back and his notes on the desk in front of him. “Instead of organic love, in this instance understood to be the chemical formula produced by a perfect balance of dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin in the brain, Amortentia creates infatuation and a potentially dangerous obsession. It is characterised by its spiralling steam, pearl sheen, and multi-faceted scent. The effects are strong, however like any mind altering substance, it does fade and an antidote is widely available. Amortentia must be administered continuously in order to maintain the false love in the drinker, otherwise the effects will wear off and the drinker will regain their own free will.” Spock unfolded his arms and sat, ears tinted a very pale green.

  
  


Jim reached under the table, hand touching Spock's knee. “You did great,” he said quietly, fully aware of the fact Slughorn was preparing to give feedback and that the class was mostly silent. More so, he was aware of the fact that Spock didn't love speaking in front of the class, all eyes fixed on only him. Spock didn't respond, but he did move his hand down his leg until his fingertips brushed Jim's.

  
  


“Very good, some nice additions there, Spock! Very nice specifications of wizard magic, I suppose there's a lot more we don't know, eh? Some, er, magic from other races?” Silence. Slughorn adjusted his collar, eyes glinting. “Yes, yes, for another time, you're absolutely right. Loads of potions to get through, so little time. Bertha, you next, quite a lead to follow.”

  
  


Martha, a Hufflepuff with tight curls and tie askew, stood. “Veritaserum is a powerful truth potion...”

  
  


-*-

  
  


The feast on the first day back was never as grand as the sorting ceremony feast, but Jim had eaten so much that first evening he was thankful for the simpler options of vegetables, potatoes, chicken, and cauliflower cheese.

  
  


“I should have talked about how ridiculous it is that the ingredients are so expensive, and most werewolves aren't that well off. Why didn't I mention that?” Jim groaned, stabbing a pea.

  
  


“I don't know, maybe because it's not relevant to potions theory?” Bones said dryly, pouring pumpkin juice. Hades, his screech owl, pecked at his hand waiting for scraps. Bones rolled his eyes, cutting a piece of chicken which the bird greedily swallowed.

  
  


“Neither's the fact that Amortentia gets its name from Latin, but he soaked that up.” Jim grumbled, staring mournfully at his raised fork.

  
  


“Sure,” Bones chuckled. “ _That's_ it. Not the fact that Slughorn's been trying to get Spock to attend another one of his Slug Club dinners since second year. He's desperate to leak secrets about Spock's world, he thinks anything the guys says is pure gold.”

  
  


“To be fair, it usually is.” said Jim, pride evident in his voice despite his frustrations.

  
  


Bones extended a hand to Chekov, who let out a sigh before rummaging in his pockets. He retrieved two sickles, placing them heavily into Bones' palm. Jim's eyebrows furrowed, confused. Bones noticed and quickly shoved the silver into the pocket of his own robes.

  
  


“Oh, uh, yeah. Just remembered Chekov owes me for.... uh – ”

  
  


“ --Sweets on the train!--”

  
  


“--a quidditch bet.”

  
  


Bones closed his eyes, Chekov looked partially guilty and chose the brief silence to stuff a potato into his mouth, whole.

  
  


“Guys...” Jim elongated, eyebrows raised.

  
  


It was at that moment that Spock entered the great hall, returning from the owlery after sending a customary letter to his mother. Yes, he had arrived safely, yes classes had begun and he intended to rise to each challenge, no, he was not allowing himself to be distracted. Jim shuffled along the bench, increasing the empty space between him and the rest of the Slytherin students. Spock sat, smiling gratefully at Jim, plate appearing magically before him. Previous conversation forgotten, Jim shifted ever so slightly, not enough to block Chekov or Bones from the discussion, but enough to face Spock comfortably.

  
  


“Hey, chess tonight?”

  
  


Missed by Jim and Spock, Bones and Chekov shared a look, smirking.

  
  


-*-

  
  


_Dear Jim,_

  
  


_I hope you're settling back into the school routine. Your sixth year is so important, I'm proud that you've remained as dedicated as you always have been. I won't be able to write to you for a while – I'm heading to Romania for a case involving some of their dragon reserves. Naturally, owl communication isn't wise. I'll let you know when I'm back in America, or if I can stop off in Hogsmeade at any point on my way back._

  
  


_Love, Mom._

  
  


_-*-_

  
  


Jim crumpled the letter in his fist, throwing it into the crackling fire. Uhura looked up from her homework, 20 inches on ancient runes, and put down her quill.

  
  


“Want to talk about it?”

  
  


“Not really.” Jim said, eyes fixed on the fireplace.

  
  


“Okay.” Uhura waited, eyes scanning her work, unfocussed.

  
  


Jim worried his lower lip, pulling the cuffs of his jumper up over his hands. “It's just that she's so...”

  
  


Uhura looked up, taking the silence to read Jim's face. He was starting to grow into his features, she noticed. His jaw was sharp, shadows from the fireplace dancing across his face. His eyes, however, were the same cerulean blue; never able to fully hide what he was feeling. Tonight they were red, bloodshot, though Jim was doing his best to hide this from her. Uhura knew it had nothing to do with the late hour and everything to do with the letter he had just read.

  
  


“Do you remember, first year, I stayed behind for Christmas?” Jim asked, not looking at her.

  
  


Uhura closed her book. “It was too expensive to get back to America, but your mum was going to meet you in Hogsmeade for New Year.”

  
  


“Yeah,” Jim laughed, hollow. “Sprout walked down with me, to make sure I was safe before she got there. And she never came.”

  
  


Nyota's heart clenched at Jim's voice, both resigned and broken at the same time. She had wondered, of course she had, what Jim's relationship with his mother was like. Odd mentions here and an anecdote there had been enough to gage that it was far from healthy; as any friend would be, she was curious, hoping he would open up to someone – if not her – about it. Hearing him now, sounding all of his young 16 years, Uhura was sadistically reminded to be careful what she wished for.

  
  


“About... 15, 20 minutes after we were supposed to meet, her patronus shows up. Big silver swan, hard to miss. I knew, even before it spoke. Something had come up, something more _important_.

  
  


“Jim...” Uhura spoke softly.

  
  


“And it was fine. “ He continued, voice cracking at the last word. “And it kept being _fine._ Easter vacation, my birthday. Until third year, and it was the same thing all over again, except this time she came. For like, 20 minutes. She didn't even finish her coffee before making some bullshit excuse about how great it as to see me again, she has to go, but we should do it again soon. Like I was someone she used to work with, not her fucking son.”

  
  


Jim looked at the empty envelope now crumpled into a ball in his fist, before throwing that, too, into the fire. “She's never around,” he said quietly. “And I want to be okay with that, but I'm not.”

  
  


“Of course you're not. She's your mother.”

  
  


Jim still wouldn't meet her gaze, so ignoring the portrait above the mantel which was doing an awful job at pretending to be asleep, Uhura put her things aside, joining him on his couch instead. “Hey, look at me.”

  
  


She placed one hand on his (unsurprisingly warm) cheek, gently turning his face towards hers. She spoke clearly, carefully, so that he'd take in every word.

  
  


“You are not a healer. You cannot fix whatever issue she's been pretending is not there. Most importantly, the issue is not you – you deserve everything good this world can give you, and you are worthy of so much love, Jim, trust me.”

  
  


Jim, who had been searching Uhura's face for something – some lie spoken out of pity – found nothing but openness. It was almost foreign to him, having someone speak so gently yet with such honest affection. His face crumpled, the tears he had been pushing back for years breaking through the walls he had put up. Whether he moved first or Uhura, Jim wasn't sure, but he was crying and she was holding him tightly, keeping together the pieces of a boy who tried to be far older than he should have to be.

  
  


-*-

  
  


The first snow of the year began falling just past midnight on a Saturday. The group (“ _We should have a name” / “What about Team Enterprise?” / Scotty snorted “Sounds like we're auditioning for a spot on The Apprentice.)_ were up in the sky, wands tucked safely into their robes as Jaylah's latest experiment – floating orbs of pure white light – lit the quidditch pitch enough for them to play.

  
  


An enchanted football flew past Jim's ear so closely that he felt the old leather graze his skin. He flipped his beaters bat in hand, squinting to watch the ball's direction. It didn't look as if it planned to return his way any time soon, and so he continued flying towards Chekov. The latter was chasing after the quaffle – in their case, a bewitched basketball – so intensely that he hadn't noticed the bludger in close pursuit.

  
  


It was cold, close to freezing, and Jim wished he had more to shield him from the cold than his thin, flannel dressing gown. Teeth chattering and knuckles white around his bat, Jim flew as close as he could to Chekov, narrowly missing the other boy's arm as he swung at the bludger, beating it as far away from them as he would with one swing. Chekov glanced over his shoulder, spinning mid air to grab the quaffle under one arm as the other hand clutched at his broom tightly.

  
  


“Thanks, Keptin!” he grinned, stretching out his free arm. “I definitely need this in one piece.”

Jim smiled, wind stinging his chapped lips. He opened his mouth to reply. But instead received a mouth full of something cold and, after a brief second, wet. Jim frowned, swallowing, and looked up at the sky. Illuminated against the light floating a little away from him, appearing gradually but quicker the more he stared, came snowflakes.

  
  


His smile turned into a fully fledged grin, the cold suddenly feeling like potential instead of a hindrance. He was a spring baby, but Jim had a fondness towards winter. Seeing everything cloaked in a blanket of snow, or watching the rain wash away the troubles of the day, was soothing in a way that no other season really could be.

  
  


“And Jaylah catches the snitch! That makes a total of 230 points: 150 from Jaylah, 30 points from Spock, 30 from Sulu, and 20 Chekov. Now get your asses down here before you all freeze to death, idiots.” Bones' voice echoed down from the stands, wand acting as a megaphone, just loud enough to reach them dozens of feet above him, not not enough to travel back to the castle grounds.

  
  


Sulu landed first, followed closely by Jaylah and Spock, then Chekov, Scotty, and Uhura. Jim was the last to reach the ground, taking a moment to feel the chill of the air in his lungs, the moment of quiet which was so rarely found during the day. When he did land, it was to the excited chatter and general thrill which so often followed their late practices. It was contagious, Jim found himself talking animatedly to Bones about the notes the he'd made while spectating, about the strengths they'd all developed as a team, and the different techniques they should try when they got together to play again.

  
  


“Do you think it will settle?” Chekov asked excitedly, eyes sparkling. Jim forgot, most of the time, that Chekov remembered the winters spent in St. Petersburg when he was a child. That to him, a winter wasn't really winter until the snow had settled and it took a minimum of three layered jumpers to feel comfortable outside.

  
  


“Probably – the ground was pretty dry when we came down.”

  
  


Chekov beamed before running up and jumping on Sulu's back. “It's Christmas!”

  
  


Sulu laughed openly, broom dropping to the ground as he reached to make sure Chekov wouldn't fall. “Mm-hm. Totally.” He shook his head, smiling. “Christmas in November.”

  
  


“Duh,” Chekov said, letting himself down. “Date changed, didn't you know?”

  
  


Jim laughed softly to himself, falling into step with Spock as they made their way ever so slowly to the castle. Lilah flew above them, circling to make sure they were headed towards the castle before she returned to Gryffindor tower. She was the only speck of white against the ink black sky, the only thing on the grounds save for themselves at this hour, and her silence told the group that they were once again safe for the night. Scotty was just ahead, levitating the box which kept their quidditch balls in. They'd swapped from sneaking out the Hogwarts ones to bewitching their own in Jim's second year, when a clear night turned into a tempestuous storm too quickly to predict. The snitch was nowhere to be seen, and with pyjamas drenched through and wind too strong to stay airborne much longer, the group had to no choice but to begin their decent one ball down. The next morning, seven of them had come down with colds, and Jim remembered being momentarily jealous of Spock's advanced genetics, or whatever it was that left him feeling no better nor worse than he had the previous day.

  
  


The teachers, of course, had pinned the snitch's disappearance on the Slytherin quidditch team. It was fortunate for Jim and his friends that a few days before their own game, Slytherin had lost 210 – 80 to Gryffindor, a victory that had been poorly received by the Slytherin captain. It had nearly resulted in blows; Quinn had left the pitch fuming, spitting curses under his breath that, had he had his wand with him, would have been sure to cause mayhem. Gryffindor had celebrated late into the night, throwing jabs at Quinn when passing in the corridor. The former had actually been planning to let off dung bombs in the Gryffindor team's locker room as payback, and Jim felt a stab of guilt for each night of the week he was in detention for something he didn't do. Nyota set the dung bombs off herself as a silent act of solidarity, and Scotty had enchanted two footballs, two basketballs, and a golf ball to serve as their own set.

  
  


Spock's hand brushed the back of Jim's own, cold, but it wasn't that which sent a jolt of pleasure through Jim's arm. Jim reached out a finger and stroked it down the length of Spock's palm, a private smile stretching across his face.

  
  


“What is on your mind?” Spock asked quietly, chocolate eyes staring intently at Jim.

  
  


Jim breathed in and linked his fingers between Spock's, squeezing his hand under the cover of darkness. “For once,” he said, watching as the snow began to cover the grass, “absolutely nothing.”

  
  


They piled into the Room of Requirement that night, a detour from their original plans to crash in the Ravenclaw tower after seeing Mrs Norris prowling the steps up to the fifth floor. Weary and ready to wrap themselves up in as many blankets as humanly possible, the room opened up to eight mattresses in front of a roaring fire. Jim collapsed onto one, pulling the sapphire duvet up under his chin.

  
  


“Good game, guys.” he yawned, puffing up his pillow before flopping down, eyes closed.

  
  


Spock smiled at the sight, choosing the mattress beside him and laying atop of the emerald covers.

  
  


Nyota, the only one alert enough to think more than five minutes in advanced, flicked her wand to summon the alarm clock that usually sat on her bedside cabinet. When it arrived, she set it for seven, before kicking off her shoes and curling up on the mattress closest to the fire.

  
  


“Goodnight, Nyota.” Spock said quietly, so as to not disturb the others who were already fast asleep.

  
  


“Night, Spock.” Uhura said, reply muffled somewhat by the quilt she had bunched up around herself.

  
  


The fire crackled steadily on through the night, and gradually Spock felt himself slip into unconsciousness.

  
  


-*-

  
  


Defence against the Dark arts was held in the same classroom it always had been in. This morning, however, the windows were frosted by snow which cast an ethereal glow over the room – one which set the students on edge as they emptied their bags onto the workbenches in front of them. Jim swore as he retrieved his ink pot, finding that it had begun to leak in his bag.

  
  


“Shit.”

  
  


Spock, who was sat beside him and currently unrolling out his parchment, raised an eyebrow.

  
  


Jim scowled at him, shaking his ink stained hand. “You'd think they'd give them a magic seal by now. One which doesn't burst open when you don't want it to.”

  
  


“You could always enchant it yourself.” Spock suggested, eyes glinting with humour.

  
  


“You could always shut up,” Jim countered, smirking.

  
  


“I'm afraid you'd miss my input. Especially regarding the structure of your written work which, especially now, seems to be in dire straits.” Spock all but smirked.

  
  


Jim resisted the urge to stick his tongue out, and instead pointed his wand towards his bag. “Scourgify.”

  
  


Spock reached over and took Jim's other hand between the two of his own, ignoring the huff that came from Jim. He knew it was more an act than anything else, anxiety over what was to come in History of Magic later that day manifesting into small outbursts of frustration at any given point. Using his own magic, Spock cleaned Jim's hands free from the ink which had covered them, ignoring the whispers which came from the bench behind them.

  
  


They'd started the second dark war last week. It had been surreal, learning the names of people who'd slept in their beds only decades before but were forced to grow up far too quickly. Spock had considered, briefly, if it happened now, would they become the D.A.? Would their group, small but so strong – bonds which reached past the boundaries set by the different houses – step up to fight an evil none of them had even considered possible? He liked to think that they would. That they'd grow, welcome new members across the school, and fight for what they believed in. All four houses, together. Then he had realised that whatever scenario he could picture in his mind was irrelevant, that he was simply allowing himself to be distracted by _what if_ s, and that was a dangerous path to stumble upon.

  
  


“It is possible they won't mention him,” Spock said quietly, encasing Jim's hand between the two of his. He met Jim's gaze, eyes flickering between two orbs of brilliant blue, and sighed. “But if they do, you must remember that there is nothing our friends and I would not do to make this easier to bare.”

  
  


Jim's eyes flickered downwards, avoiding Spock's own. “I don't really know what you're talking about, Spock.” he murmured, but curled his fingers around Spock's hand, squeezing gently.

  
  


Spock, who had learned enough about wizards over the last few years to know when to leave things alone, nodded. It was then that Professor Marcus bust through the old oak doors, the sound enough to make quite a few students jump.

  
  


“Unforgivable curses and counter-curses,” Marcus spoke, wand slicing the air in front of him. The chalk moved against the blackboard, elegant script echoing his words back to him. “You know the curses. Can anybody tell me how to counter them?”

  
  


Nobody moved for a moment. Jim's hand twitched at his side, but it stayed down.

  
  


“Not a single one of you?” Marcus sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Disappointing. And what will you do if this question comes up in your N.E.W.Ts next year?

  
  


“Professor,” Spock began, raising a hand out of politeness. “The killing curse has no counter measure. The only person having known to survive it did so due to unpredictable circumstances. The imperius curse can be resisted, however it takes an individual of extreme psychological composure to do so. Additionally, the cruciatus curse inflicts a pain so great that attempting to cast a spell whilst under its influence would be near impossible. Certainly an individual may try to counter it with basic defensive skills, such as disarming or _stupefying_ an opponent before they have the chance to cast their curse, but it would take fast reflexes and an incredibly strong shielding charm to do much good. Though, if a wizard or witch is prepared to use an unforgivable curse, any counter action only really buys time. The only way to avoid death, in such a case, is to use death yourself.”

  
  


Jim felt himself grow cold. He couldn't imagine Spock, not this Spock, taking a life. Sure, when they had first met and the elf was almost incapable of expressing emotion, he could have believed it. A muggle would have taken one look at that cold exterior and slapped the label _psychopath_ on him without a second thought. But they couldn't see the way Spock's eyes softened when you shared a secret, or the way that his voice softened when talking about home. Jim was reminded, then, that he wasn't the only person with a darkness in his family history.

  
  


Marcus didn't smile, he rarely did, but there was a smugness to his voice that his students took to mean he was pleased with their response. “Five points to Ravenclaw. This is advanced defence against the dark arts. Sometimes that means recognising that the dark arts can be used for good, too.”

  
  


“Forgive me, professor,” a voice chimed in from the back. Jim turned to see Aileen, a fellow sixth year from Gryffindor, look pissed. “But how can killing someone ever be a good thing?”

  
  


“Harry Potter killed Voldemort.”

  
  


Even now, students shuddered at the name.

  
  


“He never used – _that_ curse.”

  
  


“Or did he?” Marcus countered, leaning back against his desk. “It doesn't matter. At least half of you expressed an interest in becoming an Auror after graduation; dark wizards are fortunately few and far between now-a-days, but that's not to say the ones that are out there will come easily. You must be prepared to defend yourselves by whatever means necessary.”

  
  


Aileen huffed, slouching in her seat. Beside her, a fellow Slytherin (Jim recognised him as Bill, who's dorm was next to his,) muttered to himself as he doodled on an old piece of parchment. Perhaps it would have gone unnoticed in a busier class, but today the group of 30 were silent, minds disorganised and hearts racing as they realised that Hogwarts couldn't keep them safe forever. Today, Bill's words filled the silence, a quote Jim knew well.

  
  


“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

  
  


-*-

  
  


“ _These are dark times, there is no denying. Our world has perhaps faced no greater threat than it does today. But I say this to our citizenry: We, ever your servants, will continue to defend your liberty and repel the forces that seek to take it from you! Your Ministry remains, strong.”_

  
  


Professor Hyden quoted. Fortunately for the students at Hogwarts, Binns had decided to take – in his words – an early retirement. His ghost would float along the halls, still completely unaware that he had died decades before. Hyden was the complete opposite, far younger than he had been, and a Hufflepuff Alum to boot. She had been a first year during the war, and taught with a passion and empathy which Binns lacked.

  
  


Hayden closed the book and let it drop to her desk with a thud. Moving around, she leaned against it, eyes scanning the class.

  
  


“These were the words the Ministry of Magic issued after confirming that he who must not be named was back. Ironically, it was the ministry which then proceeded to strip witches and wizards of their liberties, dependent on blood. Members of the Ministry alleged to be under the influence of the imperius curse, yet there were those who unashamedly spoke out against muggle borns and half blooded people. Dolores Umbridge and Albert Runcorn, specifically. Name them in your essays, the board likes specifics.” Hayden added. “Other notable people: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, George Kirk and Neville Long-bottom.”

  
  


Jim stared ahead, the blackboard blurry, yet he couldn't bring himself to re-focus his gaze. He knew that if he moved his head, he'd catch someone's eye – he already felt the weight of multiple people staring his way.

  
  


“The first three were members of The Oder of the Phoenix, the latter two members of Dumbledore's Army. The active dates of each group are in your books, pages 112-113. Of course, you all know about the primary people of interest – Potter, Granger, Weasley, Dumbledore. It'll be wise to go back to your O.W.L notes and refresh your memories on them, but for the better marks you need to know about the people who worked behind the scenes, too. Black, Lupin, and Moody were excellent fighters; Kirk and Longbottom brave and true. All but one died fighting the war – if you are taking Herbology, please ask Neville if it's okay _before_ hounding him with questions.” Hayden smiled.

  
  


“Does it matter that they were all in Gryffindor?” a voice asked, somewhere to Jim's right. “It says here, page 114, ' _Gryffindor Alums who died during the war consist of: Black, Sirius,'_ \- er, a load of other people, but Kirk, Lupin, and Weasley, too.”

  
  


Hayden was silent for a moment, head tilted as she chose her words carefully. “In war, your choices will always have a larger impact. But it is your choices, and not your house, which define who you are.”

  
  


She stood up from where she had leant against the desk, taking a few steps towards the children sat before her. “It's true that Gryffindor favours those who are brave, who will see a problem and aren't afraid to speak out against it. It's also true that Ravenclaws are smart enough to figure out how to beat the system, to help where they can and in the areas they are best at. It's true that Hufflepuffs are loyal and form bonds which are rarely broken. It's true that Slytherin house is cunning, that they'll do what they think right, by whatever means necessary, and make sure that the end result is favourable. None of these traits are bad. You can be power hungry and want to take over the world, or you can follow a moral compass towards a path which ends in peace. These traits can lend themselves to either direction; it's down to the witch or wizard to choose which way they go.”

  
  


Jim didn't listen to much past that point. He couldn't help but wonder, if his dad had been more cunning and less noble, if he would still be here to see Jim off to school. If he'd have to worry about receiving Howlers at breakfast after being caught out of bed, or for receiving detention, because there'd be somebody at home who actually read the mail as it arrived. If George Kirk had been anyone but a Gryffindor, would he still have faced the death eaters all those years ago? Or would he be one of them, hiding behind a mask as some other kid's parent was forced to their knees in agony? Jim forced his eyes shut tightly, berating himself for even thinking it. Being in Slytherin wouldn't have made his dad a death eater, there were plenty who fought alongside the Order and the Army whilst adorned in green. if Jim was ever unsure about his own morality, he could never doubt Bones; Bones, who probably didn't have a single evil bone in his body, was nothing but loyal to a just cause. Who, oddly, seemed both distracted and enraptured, fiddling with his hands as he listened to Hayden talk.

  
  


Jim then thought of his mother: brave, but a fraction of what she had been before. A part of her died with George, Jim was well aware, and maybe if she weren't carrying him they would have fought together. Maybe if he wasn't in the equation, the Kirks would have been injured but alive – both of them, able to see a world without the Dark Lord. It was a dangerous way of thinking, Jim knew. Still, it was something that had plagued him for years after he had learned the truth about his fathers death.

  
  


“You are not a burden,” Spock had told him once, stretched out on a rock at the far end of the lake. The sun had been setting, and the orange glow cast warm fragments of light across the still water. Jim hadn't responded, but he didn't need to. Spock's arm had been only centimetres away from Jim's, the slightest movement would cause their skin to brush, and Spock would sense that in that moment, perhaps not all was well, but it was enough.

  
  


-*-

  
  


Bones grumbled half way up to the Headmistresses office, hands patting his robes down as he tried to remember where he had stowed his wand. It was raining outside, and Bones had been called from potions to a meeting with McGonagall – sprinting across the lawn was a good shortcut during the summer, but in November it was far from the best decision Bones had ever made.

  
  


Finally feeling the wooden end of his wand tucked into his waistband, Bones hummed in satisfaction as, with a quick swish and a muttered incantation, his robes were warm and dry. It was then that the stone staircase stopped moving, pausing by a large oak door. This wasn't Bones' first trip to the office, and he was certain it wouldn't be his last, but he could comfort himself with the knowledge that the team's practises were still a secret, if the fact he was the only one summoned to the office was anything to go by.

  
  


He knocked once before turning the old doorknob, letting himself into the spacious room. It hadn't changed much over the years, not from what he could gather from the backgrounds of the paintings hung around the room. Old Albus raised an inquisitive eyebrow before returning to his book, yet the others appeared to be dozing in the grey afternoon. Bones sighed; aside from the portraits, he was alone.

  
  


“Ahem,”

  
  


Or nearly. Perched in its usual spot above the headmaster's chair, the sorting hat appeared as old and as haggard as ever.

  
  


“Er, morning?” Bones said, confused. Aside from his sorting in first year, he had never been even remotely close to the hat. To have it deliberately speak to him now was confusing, to say the least.

  
  


“Young man,”the hat croaked, “to what do I owe this rude awakening?”

  
  


Bones frowned. “You spoke to me.”

  
  


The hat seemed to hum; if it were human, it might have even tilted its head. Bones could see, from the way the fabric creased in areas, that it was certainly mulling something over. Then, after a brief silence: “True.”

  
  


It was so strange that Bones could have laughed, if he wasn't so baffled by the situation.

  
  


The hat all but stretched (and really, how could a piece of clothing be so animated?) and Bones moved to lean against the desk, both fascinated and wary. After a few minutes passed, Bones had chalked the incident up to faulty magic – that can happen over time – and settled in to wait for McGonagall. The rain outside was hitting the tall window, the regular pitter patter a sound that Bones missed, being underground for a large portion of his free time. He wondered if Ravenclaws or Gryffindors grew used to it, being in their towers so often throughout the day.

  
  


“I am older than most of the bricks in this castle,” the hat spoke, disturbing the silence that had settled around them. “My boy, do you not think I can tell when somebody doubts my ability to choose what is best for them? You are not the first. You won't be the last, either, I'm sure.”

  
  


Bones opened his mouth to deny it, he had already begun to shake his head, but out came something entirely different. “And were you right? About me? I'm not like –”

  
  


“Him or her or them or whomever,” The hat replied agitatedly. “You are not like whomever you are thinking of for the simple reason that you are not them. There is no wrong way to be yourself, and no right way to belong to a house.”

  
  


“But I asked for Slytherin.” Bones said, surprising even himself with his honesty. He'd never told anybody that before, not even Jim. “Would I still be there if I had stayed quiet?”

  
  


“Ask, and ye shall receive. You asked to be with your friend, and so with your friend you were.” The hat cleared its throat, and then without warning, burst into song. “Fair Hufflepuff, Wise Ravenclaw, Brave Gryffindor too, were all friends with Slytherin, although this you knew. Young wizards do forget, it seems, that snakes can hunt in packs. Ambition and bravery are not what this house lacks. Confidence in character – cunning, yes, is key, but of all the traits that Slytherin loved, the first is loyalty. So listen up, come closer still, the best is yet to come! When united are the houses four, no student here was glum. Embrace what makes your bonds so strong, true friendships are hard to find. I hope you've learned from this song to pay those doubts no mind.”

  
  


The ending note was gentler than the rest, and by this point Bones' cheeks had turned scarlet. He opened his mouth once more to reply, but before he could, the door swung open as Minerva walked in, enchanted quill making notes ahead of her.

  
  


“Ah, Mr. McCoy, you're here.” She smiled, a glint in her eye. “Are you quite well, you look flushed.”

  
  


“Fine,” Bones swallowed, resisting the temptation to fan himself. “Just hot. What –” his eyes darted between her and the hat, now still and silent on the shelf, as if the last few minutes had never happened. “What did you need to see me about? Because I probably didn't do it.” A pause. “Probably.”

  
  


McGonagall didn't laugh, but she did smile. “You are not in trouble this time, Leonard. I was simply wondering if I could count on you to gather a list of names of the Slytherin students who plan to remain at Hogwarts for the holidays.”

  
  


“Oh.” Bones' heart stopped pounding. He hadn't realised how nervous he had been – his acceptance to the St. Mungo's Healers in Training course depended entirely on him maintaining his grades, and on a good reference from the school. He had been hoping to ask McGonagall – as good a head of house as Greengrass was to the Slytherins, he had somehow managed to spend more time with the Gryffindor teacher than his own.

  
  


“Of course.” Bones replied, relieved. “Sure, I can have it to you in a couple of days.”

  
  


“That would be wonderful, thank you Mr. McCoy.”

  
  


“No problem,” Bones smiled, waited a moment in case there was anything else, and then crossed the room towards the exit.

  
  


“Mr. McCoy?”

  
  


Bones turned with his hand on the door, expression openly curious.

  
  


Minerva didn't look up from the scroll which was now stretched out on her desk, quill stationary by the ink pot.

  
  


“Green is your colour.”

  
  


Bones felt his face heat up once more, but this time it was not from embarrassment. His throat was rough when he answered, but he felt lighter than he had in months.

  
  


“Thank you, professor.”

  
  


The door closed gently behind him, and Bones scrubbed at his cheeks quickly as he got on the staircase. It was cold, he told himself, as the staircase began its decent. It was only half a lie, after all.

  
  


-*-

  
  


The room of requirement was cosy, a roaring fire crackling away as Jim and Spock sprawled out on the bed in the centre of the room, books around them. Before, Spock might have said that it would be more productive to ask the room for a desk to work at, but now all the Elf could think about was how comfortable it was to prop up _Advanced Astrology: Signs and Stars_ on a stack of pillows, laying inches away from Jim's warmth.

  
  


“Uranus will enter Aries soon,” Spock all but smirked.

  
  


Jim laughed, dropping his pen onto the scroll he was currently editing. “Couldn't resist that one, could you?” Jim asked, forgoing work entirely to flop onto his back, staring across at Spock as he read.

  
  


“It's a simple fact.” Spock stated plainly, eyes not leaving the text. “You're an Aries, Jim, I thought you'd be interested in your planetary alliance.”

  
  


“Uh huh, just that.”

  
  


“I have no idea what you mean,” Spock shook his head, voice unwavering. “You, too, are taking Astronomy. It'd be helpful to make a note for when you're doing your own research.”

  
  


Jim grinned. “I don't need to research to know that, as an Aquarius, your ruling planet is Uranus.”

  
  


“Small universe,” Spock hummed non-committally.

  
  


To an outside it may seem like Spock was only half concentrating on their conversation, reading the designated chapters whilst Jim was doing his best at distracting the other student. Jim knew better. Spock's gaze, although locked on his book, was unfocussed. His eyes flickered irrationally to random points on the page before remaining there for a few minutes, unmoving. This was a Spock who had given up on his current task, and was instead concentrating on another. Jim bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin.

  
  


For a moment there was no noise save for the crackling of the logs on the hearth and the ticking of a large grandfather clock. Jim looked at Spock, _really_ looked at him – the way the firelight caught the angles of his face just so, casting shadows along an already contoured cheek. His ears were pointed slightly, the faintest green tint revealing his true intentions. This was how they were, Jim and Spock; Spock would hint, Jim would push, and together they'd fall into something beautiful. Following the mood, Jim leaned forwards, pressing his lips against a warm cheek. Spock leaned into it, tilting his face so that he could brush his own lips against Jim's. It was a chaste kiss, one with the promise of more to come, but Jim could already feel his toes curling.

  
  


They parted and Jim sighed, eyes closed. “Thank you. For today.”

  
  


Spock shifted so he was on his side, leaning over Jim. “You're welcome. I hope it wasn't too awful.”

  
  


Jim shrugged a shoulder, opening his eyes to meet Spock's own. “It's better now.”

  
  


Spock smiled, a genuine, small curve of lips, before ducking to recapture Jim's attention in another kiss. The hand that wasn't supporting his weight traced Jim's arm, down the bare skin which was electrified under his touch, until his fingertips met Jim's. This was his people's way, and as Jim's tongue gently traced his lower lip, asking for permission, Spock couldn't keep in his hum of pleasure any more. All of his senses were alert; he could hear Jim's heartbeat, his laboured breathing when they parted only to be drawn back together – a dance like the ocean and the shore, one always returning no matter what storms divided them.

  
  


Jim broke away once more, laughing.

  
  


“What?” Spock asked, fingers sliding between Jim's own to grasp his hand tightly.

  
  


“I can't believe the others still haven't figured it out.”

  
  


Spock shook his head, smiling. “Our friends are not the most intuitive, it's true.”

  
  


“Should we tell them?”

  
  


“If they ask,” Spock supplied half heartedly. In truth, their friends were not the most pressing matter on his mind. Spock wanted to feel Jim's skin against his own, to trace the dip of his collar bones with his mouth first, then his tongue.

  
  


He moved to settle one leg between Jim's, pressing their bodies flush together. Jim, fortunately, didn't take long to get with the programme.

  
  


Cold hands soon found their way under Spock's shirt, fingers drawing idle patterns down his ribs as Spock worked on shedding Jim of his clothes. The tie came off first, thrown haphazardly to a corner where it would be forgotten about, keeping this room available to them should they need it again soon. And with three words on the tip of Jim's tongue, words he bit down into Spock's shoulder to keep between them and this moment, they were sure to need it.

  
  


It didn't take long for the last of Jim's clothes to be discarded, the silky sheets feeling far more luxurious against his bare skin than they probably were. Spock was next, but he got as far as unbuttoning his trousers before Jim wrapped a hand around his tie, using it to pull the taller boy down into a frenzied kiss. It was hot and messy, all teeth and too much tongue, but Jim's cock twitched, a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. Spock practically growled against Jim's mouth, now red and swollen, before wrapping a hand tightly around the base of his prick.

  
  


“Oh my God,” Jim moaned, eyes falling shut as his back arched off the bed.

  
  


Spock was slow, methodical about his teasing. His thumb brushed the head of Jim's cock, spreading the pre-come along the shaft as he followed a vein down to the bed of coarse hairs.

  
  


“Oh God, please,” Jim bit his lip, licked it, before sinking his teeth back into the tender flesh.

  
  


His mouth alone was obscene, Spock thought. Far redder than any lips had the right to be, glistening with saliva. Jim rocked his hips up into Spock's palm, causing another dribble of pre-come to leak from his slit.

  
  


Spock ducked his head, mouthing at the pale flesh of Jim's thigh. His hair brushed against Jim's cock, the angle not the most flattering, but Jim whimpered at the unexpected contact.

  
  


“Clothes. Off.” Jim punctuated, hands scrambling to push Spock's half buttoned shirt from his shoulders. Spock's skin was feverish, unnaturally warm but normal for the Elf, and Jim longed to have him pressed against him, caught between the mattress and a solid body. As much as it turned him on to be so exposed under a still dressed Spock, feeling the coarse fabric of his trousers brush against Jim's sensitive length, he needed fewer layers between them – _now_.

  
  


Jim could already feel sweat gathering on his forehead, the fireplace combined with Spock's natural heat making him light-headed. Spock pulled away and Jim whined at the loss of contact, until it was back again, far hotter and slicker than it had been moments before. Jim opened his eyes and above him was Spock, naked, holding himself up so there was the barest amount of friction to work with. Jim breathed heavily, chest flushed a bright pink. He reached one hand up to slide into Spock's hair, fingers curling to grip the short strands as best he could.. The other slid across Spock's skin, coming to rest on his behind with his fingers splayed, one dangerously close to edge of his cleft.

  
  


Spock's gaze was hungry, eyes darting between Jim's own, searching. Jim barely nodded, the slightest incline of his head, before Spock ducked, igniting another fiery kiss between them. Jim's hips rocked upwards just as Spock bore down, suddenly so much sensation after so little made Jim cry out, shaking against Spock's form.

  
  


“Shh, t'hy'la,” Spock soothed, marking the words along Jim's neck with gentle bites and sucks against the pale flesh.

  
  


Jim tried to place the word; over the years Spock had taught him some of his mother tongue, patient every time Jim messed up the pronunciation or grammatical order, rewarding him when he got it right. He had never told him this word. Jim's forehead creased as he tried to remember if he had simply forgotten it, distracted by the beauty of the mountains, but Spock soothed those thoughts from his mind with a gentle kiss atop his head.

  
  


They rocked together, cocks sliding in a delicious rhythm as Jim and Spock clung to each other. Jim's nails dug into Spock's ass, encouraging him to move faster. Spock's cock was slick, a natural secretion that came from his elvish side, and it was something Jim greatly appreciated when it came to his lack of patience. There was no burn of dry skin on skin, only the arousing slide of sensitive flesh which made heat curl in his stomach and his toes curl.

  
  


“Yes,” breathed Spock, lips moving against Jim's collar bone. “You're close, aren't you?”

  
  


Jim didn't think he could form words coherently. He was hot, sweaty, and it felt like every inch of his body was stimulated by something. He let out a long, drawn out moan, head turning to the side to press into the pillow beneath him. The edge of a book spine dug into his forehead, but he could barely feel it over the fire in his groin.

  
  


“Please,” Jim whined. He removed the hand from Spock's hair and reached between them, barely managing to stroke their cocks before Spock gripped his wrist, tight enough to convey meaning but gentle, always gentle, as he pinned Jim's wrist up by his head. “ _Fuck,”_

  
  


Spock sucked Jim's bottom lip into his own mouth, teeth grazing the puffy flesh. He swallowed Jim's ramblings and moans, hips thrusting erratically against Jim's as he felt himself nearing a finish. Jim was arching up from the bed and Spock took the moment to slide his free hand, the one not pinning Jim's other, beneath him, holding Jim in place. They were flush against each other now, sweaty skin moving against sweaty skin, and Jim had rarely had a moment feel so erotic before now.

  
  


“Come for me,” Spock whispered into his ear, lips brushing the outer shell. His breath, like everything, was hot. Jim was on fire, thighs shaking with the ache to stay in the position Spock had put them in, and he felt covered yet entirely exposed all at once.

  
  


He came with a cry, three thick ropes of white shooting from his cock. Spock didn't last much longer, arm giving way as they collapsed back onto the mattress, Spock's come mixing with Jim's own on Jim's chest. They were both breathing heavily, Jim more so than Spock, though the latter lay himself on top of Jim carefully, mindful to avoid his overstimulating him. Jim's hand was now free and he dropped it to rest on Spock's back, the rise and fall of his body giving Jim something to focus on other than the rapid beating of his heart.

  
  


After a minute passed, the two taking the time to catch their breath, Jim laughed.

  
  


“What is it?” Spock asked, and Jim could feel his smile against his shoulder.

  
  


Jim blinked up at the ceiling, feeling sweat and come cooling on his skin.

  
  


“I don't think I'm going to be able to hand in that scroll,” Jim sniggered, feeling the parchment dig into his hip. Reaching down, he eased it out from where it was lodged beneath him. The ink was smudged, barely legible, and the paper was creased far more than any regularly used scroll aught to be. “I feel like they'd know, somehow.”

  
  


“That's illogical.” Spock hummed. “Unless Professor Kane is a trained legilimens.”

  
  


“Augh, now I'm going to be paranoid,” Jim dropped the parchment onto the ground – he'd find it and re-write it later. “Whenever I think about you in class, I'll be thinking about whether Kane has a front row seat to my sordid imagination.”

  
  


“You think about me in class?”

  
  


Jim smirked. “Sometimes – hey!”

  
  


Spock pinched Jim's side, beneath a bruise that was forming nicely. Whether it was from Spock or their practices, neither would be sure, and it was that ambiguity that gave Jim a thrill when he would change in front of the others. It was his own dirty secret.

  
  


“Distractions like that aren't beneficial to your study, Jim.” Spock spoke, but his tone was light, mocking almost. Jim smiled.

  
  


“And this is?”

  
  


“Of course,” Spock replied, and from the tone in his voice Jim could gather that he was smiling.

  
  


Neither spoke for a moment or two after that, simply basking in a rare moment of simply being together. It was when goosebumps began appearing on Jim's arms that Spock moved, sitting up to grab the blanket that lay at the foot of the bed.

  
  


Jim grimaced at the drying mess on his stomach, now on Spock's too. He reached for his wand and murmured a quick _tergeo,_ pointing at first himself and then at Spock.

  
  


“Thank you,” Spock said, draping the blanket over Jim's worn out form. He then set about to piling up the books and scrolls which lay around them, ensuring there were no unsightly stains remaining.

  
  


Jim watched him work, the muscles in his arms working as he lifted a stack of books from the bed and floor back into his bag, one enchanted to carry more than it should. It took a lot more to wear Spock out than it did Jim, something Jim had a lot of fun exploring. Today, however, he was too drained to do more than just look. It had been an emotionally exhausting day, one which forced him to acknowledge a lot of things he preferred to keep hidden. His relationship with his parents, for one, and his mother's trauma for another. It was getting easier; after that night with Uhura, it didn't seem to cut as deeply whenever somebody mentioned the war, or the wonderful Winona Kirk. Winona, who he still hadn't heard from, even with December edging closer and closer.

  
  


“What are you doing for Christmas?” Jim asked sleepily, stretching lazily on the bed.

  
  


Spock looked up, expression unreadable as always to anyone but his friends. Jim read his gaze, concerned but not worried, and let the warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket he was under flood through him.

  
  


“Whatever you are doing for Christmas.” A pause. “You know my people don't concern themselves with mankind's sentimentality.”

  
  


Jim hummed. “Did your mom never want to celebrate it?”

  
  


Spock shrugged, moving to lie next to Jim, above the blanket. “Not as far as I'm aware,”

  
  


“Huh,” Jim said, staring at the ceiling. “Wanna go to London? We could see the Trafalgar Square tree, I think they have ice skating, too.”

  
  


Spock nodded, tucking the corners of the blanket around Jim's body. “We could rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron. I believe the window displays in Flourish and Blott's are beautiful at Christmastime.”

  
  


Jim grinned. Spock was getting a lot better at voicing his wants and desires, something which Jim selfishly prided himself in having an influence over, at least partially.

  
  


“That sounds perfect,”

  
  


Spock lay a hand across Jim's waist, shifting to get comfortable. Once he was, he closed his eyes, letting himself focus on the steady rhythm of Jim's breathing.

  
  


“Don't let us fall asleep,” Jim murmured quietly, too comfortable to move.

  
  


Spock hummed, playing with a loose thread from the crimson blanket. “We won't miss dinner,”

  
  


Jim wanted to reply but all he could muster was a quiet “Mm”. His bones were heavy, lethargy creeping silently through his bloodstream. The last thing he remembered was Spock singing something foreign, something Jim was too tired to translate, before darkness overwhelmed him.

  
  


-*-

  
  


“If I don't get _at least_ an Exceeds Expectations in Herbology, I'm going to throw a troll.” Bones grumbled, letting his copy of _The Master Book of Herbalism_ fall shut with a heavy thud.

  
  


“Don't,” Nyota groaned, rubbing her temples. “I've got my exam in three weeks and I feel like my head is going to explode.”

  
  


“Shouldn't you be focussing on the apparition test?” Chekov asked, looking up from where he had been doodling in the corner of his charms homework. Bones shot him a look. “What?”

  
  


“Leonard's getting himself all wound up over it, for _nothing,_ ” Nyota said, swinging her legs over the arm of the couch. “It's not like you're going to splinch yourself!”

  
  


“Oh great, now you've jinxed it,”

  
  


“I've done no such thing,” Uhura grinned, angling herself to crack her back. “Ah, that's better. Anyway, the test is fine, just remember your D's. Destination –”

  
  


“Determination, Deliberation, I know. Jim's been parroting it back at me all day.”

  
  


Jim had taken an intensive apparition course over the summer, had planned to do so the minute he turned 16, and had passed with flying colours. His licence was only valid in America, however, and so would have to sit the examination with the rest of the class. His only consolation was that he hadn't been required to attend lessons, given that he knew both the theory and the practical already.

  
  


“Lucky sod,” Bones shook his head, reaching for _Goshawk's Guide to Herbology_ and turning almost instantly to the page on medicinal uses for mandrakes. “You never see him study, but he never gets lower than an Acceptable.”

  
  


“Maybe he's born with it,” Nyota shrugged, knowing the muggle reference may be lost on Chekov, but at least Bones would crack a smile. “Hey, does this make sense? _Despite the existence of house-elf welfare guidelines, the Ministry of Magic neglected to enforce such laws by 1996, thereby allowing wizarding households to mistreat the creatures in their service through neglect and, in some cases (see previously), corporal punishment._ ”

  
  


“It's good...” Chekov spoke tentatively. Nyota raised an eyebrow. “There are a lot of clauses in the last bit, but aside from that it's great!”

  
  


Uhura smiled, reaching for the ink eraser she had purchased from Zonkos two weeks previously – something which came in incredibly useful, especially as Nyota was known to edit her essays meticulously before their hand in.

  
  


“Cheers,”

  
  


“Okay, when the fuck would you encounter a basilisk in real life? Why do I need to know this? The last known case of basilisk petrification was during the war, and even then the circumstances were extremely rare. Like, how likely is it that there's going to be an evil lair beneath every medieval castle you come across?”

  
  


“Likely,” Jaylah chimed in, from where she had been painting her nails on the floor beside them. “However, there probably won't be a massive snake hiding out there. There were hidden floors in Beauxbatons, but all I ever found there was a nest of Blibbering Humdingers.”

  
  


Bones pinched the bridge of his nose, copying down the paragraph on mandrake root draught. “Muggles have it so easy,”

  
  


“They have to do algebra,” commented Nyota, whose sister had recently taken her A-Level maths exam. “I guess it's just as bad.”

  
  


The door to Ravenclaw tower swung open and Spock came in, followed shortly (and unsurprisingly) by Jim. Chekov moved along the sofa, giving the two more room to sit.

  
  


“Have fun?” Asked Uhura, looking up from her book only to eye the way Spock's tie was crooked.

  
  


Spock sat, rummaging in his bag before pulling out a book on potion theory. “I suppose, and you?”

  
  


“Not as much as Jim,” Chekov remarked cheekily, noticing the wrinkles in Jim's shirt.

  
  


Jim rolled his eyes. “Lay off, I've been busy,”

  
  


“Oh, I'm sure,” smirked Nyota, finger tracing the same line in her book as it had been since they arrived.

  
  


“Bitch,” Jim grinned.

  
  


“Nargle,”

  
  


“Runespoor,”

  
  


Nyota threw a piece of crumpled paper his way, her aim perfect due in part to her extra curricular activities. Jim was just as good, narrowly avoiding it just in time. In his rush to jump aside he had collided with Spock, who instinctively wrapped an arm around Jim to steady him. Nyota sighed, passing a sickle to Bones. Bones accepted it, not looking up from his book as he fought a smile. Now was not the time.

  
  


-*-

  
  


Christmas came sooner than expected. They didn't fly the night before going home, all day and night if it weren't raining it was snowing, and Jim didn't fancy drying out his clothes before leaving in the morning. The others agreed, and so instead they curled up in sofas and chairs in the Hufflepuff common room, hot chocolate and sweet snacks readily available as the house-elves kept buys.

  
  


“Once I get as far as Paris, I can apparate to Lourdes,” Jaylah spoke excitedly, finally having past her test the second time around.

  
  


Sulu smiled, happy for her. He renumbered how she had shrugged off her disappointment the year before, supported him when he had passed and she hadn't. If anybody deserved it now, she did.

  
  


“Are you nervous?”

  
  


“ _Non,_ I honestly can't wait,” she grinned. “It will be a lot faster than flying, or catching the metro. And you?” she addressed Bones and Chekov, both of whom had passed with her. “Will you be getting ze tube home, or will you apparate?”

  
  


“Tube, for sure,” said Bones, just as Chekov exclaimed “Apparate, duh!”

  
  


The two shared a look before breaking off with a chuckle. “Each to their own,” Bones shrugged, calmer and more rested now that he had completed first drafts for nearly all of his due assignments.

  
  


“Spock?”

  
  


Spock regarded Jayah over the rim of his mug, hot blackcurrant steaming away instead of chocolate. “I won't be leaving London, nor am I too far from the station. It's a nice walk.”

  
  


“But we might apparate a little, right?” goaded Jim, nudging him with an elbow. Now that his licence had been updated to cover both the U.K. and Europe, Jim was taking every chance he could to use it. He had even popped between honeydukes and the three broomsticks, not even five minutes away from the other, on their last visit to Hogsmeade.

  
  


Spock gave him a look, but Jim maintained eye contact, cracking open the puppy eyes. Spock sighed.

  
  


“Perhaps the novelty will wear off soon,” he relented, shaking his head.

  
  


“Yes!” Jim grinned, punching the air.

  
  


“Which reminds me,” Nyota spoke up, settling her mug down on the coffee table beside her. “I got you all something.”

  
  


She reached beneath her chair, a chorus of ' _me too's_ and shuffling filled the otherwise empty room as she pulled out an old pillowcase stuffed with strangely wrapped shapes.

  
  


“Merry Christmas, guys,” she smiled, throwing each gift towards its respective recipient.

  
  


Jim caught a small glass orb with the delicacy of someone who was not a seeker, confused as he peeled back the messy wrapping. It was clouded, like a winter sky was trapped inside. “A rememberall?”

  
  


Nyota shook her head. “Not quite...”

  
  


Jim found himself thinking of London, of this time tomorrow laying next to Spock in front of a wide window, staring at the stars. The clouds shifted, and the orb showed him the Leaky Cauldron, sat neatly on the corner of Charing Cross Road, rundown on the outside but cosy as ever behind the peeling walls. “Oh.”

  
  


Nyota smiled. “It'll show you wherever you want to go. Helps with pinpointing a spot to apparate to, as well,”

  
  


Jim swallowed. “Thank you.”

  
  


The circle moved on, Spock had received a beautiful quill set made with phoenix feathers – something he would have never splurged on himself, but definitely appreciated the beauty of when he had last been at Diagon Alley. Sulu was given a set of never ending candles and incense, a mystery scent to each one. Chekov received his own miniature quidditch set, with pea sized balls which were enchanted act out any of the thousands of possible game outcomes the game could provide. Jaylah was gifted some perfume, a bottle which changed smells depending on what she wanted on any given day. Scotty, a beautifully hand carved wand case with protective runes blended into the intricate design. Finally, Bones opened a small jewellery box, followed by a small gasp. “Nyota –”

  
  


“It's deactivated, don't get excited too quickly.” she bit her lip nervously.

  
  


Bones withdrew an old time-turner, the sand inside the turner still fell if he spun it, but he could feel its lack of magic, the heavy gold which now served no practical purpose other than to decorate. “It's beautiful,”

  
  


“I know you get wrapped up in work sometimes. You stress about us, and yourself, and literally any possible thing to wind yourself up about. But hopefully this will remind you to take some time out, to live in the moment, and maybe even do something because you want to without worrying about how it'll affect your future,” she smiled, speaking gently.

  
  


“You're amazing, you know that, right?”

  
  


“Oh of course I do,” she grinned, lightly punching his shoulder. “It was about time you caught up.”

The group shared a laugh, sombre tone lightening as everyone moved on to open the rest of their gifts from each other. Nyota opened a mood ring from Scotty – “A real one, not the cheap tat you get at muggle craft markets” – and a never ending diary from Jaylah. Jim opened a small box from Bones, peering curiously inside. He snapped the lid shut not soon after, a blush rising to his cheeks. Spock shot him a look, eyebrow raised. After making sure nobody else was looking his way, Jim mouthed 'later,' and tucked the box beneath his seat.

  
  


Jim hadn't given Spock his gift yet. They had agreed to wait until Christmas day, warm beneath the knitted blankets of the Leaky Cauldron, to exchange them. He tried not to be nervous, wondering if his gift could match up to a phoenix feather or an intricately designed set of silver weighing scales, but knew beneath the anxiety that Spock would love anything gifted to him, simply for the fact somebody had thought of him whilst he wasn't around.

  
  


“This is our last Christmas together,” Scotty said suddenly, breaking though the chatter.

  
  


Nyota, Sulu, and Jaylah shared a look. When they returned from the holidays, they would be faced with more tests, essays, and exams. In a matter of months they will have graduated, never to step foot in Hogwarts as a student ever again.

  
  


“Come on,” Sulu forced a smile, opening his arms to the group. Nobody took much convincing; even Bones fell into the group hug readily, his eyes shining suspiciously. They clung together for a moment, each reliving a memory from the past six years together.

  
  


“You know,” Nyota began, words muffled by Chekov's jumper, “when I first approached you in the library, Jim, I was terrified.”

  
  


Jim laughed. “So was I. Thought you were going to beat me up,”

  
  


“Still could,” Nyota grinned, squeezing an arm around whomever was next to her. “I'm glad I listened to Spock, he was right about you.”

  
  


“I am known to be a good judge of character, Nyota,” Spock spoke as the group began to pull away.

  
  


“The best,” Uhura added, quickly wiping beneath her eyes.

  
  


“And it's not our last,” Chekov said quietly, pulling the cuffs of his jumper over his hands. “Here, yes, but not ever. We'll meet up, in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Or Ottery St Catchpole's close to you, Jaylah, isn't it?”

  
  


“Yeah, it is,” Jaylah nodded, looking rather emotional herself.

  
  


“So there we go! This isn't the end, guys.” Chekov gave them a cheeky grin. “It's the beginning.”

  
  


There was a laugh, the kind bore out of the end of tears, and Jim looked around at the family he had found, the one he deserved.

  
  


“I love you.” Jim spoke, the words leaving his mouth before he could process what he was going to say. His eyes were on Spock first and foremost, then his gaze moved to observe the other six around him. “All of you. I could not have picked a better group of people to spend these last years with,”

  
  


Scotty had turned red, Nyota had given up trying to hide her tears and let them fall freely down her cheeks. “You're ruining my make-up,” she croaked, but there was no malice to it.

  
  


“To friendship,” Bones raised his mug, voice thicker than usual.

  
  


“To us,” Sulu added, picking up his own hot chocolate.

  
  


They shared a toast, a mismatched group of eight who, on paper, should never have worked – but they did. Outside snow fell freely from the clouds, but inside there was nothing but warmth as the group chatted and admired the gifts they had just shared.

  
  


-*-

  
  


Steam curled above their heads as they manoeuvred the crowds at platform 9 ¾. It was full of students, parents, and siblings, all waiting eagerly to go home for the Christmas holidays. In true London fashion it was raining, fat droplets battered the glass ceiling above them as Jim pushed forwards through the sea of people, Bones, Spock, Jaylah, Uhura, and Sulu all following. Chekov had been met from the train by his mother, and Scotty had made his own way back, claiming it to be absurd that he should be expected to travel down to London, only to turn on the spot and end up back in Scotland minutes later.

  
  


They reached the wall which separated them from the rest of the station; Jim spared a glance behind him to make sure that the others were close, before walking towards the seemingly solid brick. He hadn't closed his eyes, nor rushed through, in a long time. Seeing the world around you blur was surreal – scary at first, but Jim had gotten past that by his second year. The pressure on his chest was comforting, in an odd way. There was no space, nowhere to go other than straight ahead, and as soon as he felt like he couldn't breathe it was over. The haze of red and brown gave way to the blinding light of an overhead lamp, the roaring of his own pulse in his ears was replaced by muggle tannoy calls of trains about to depart, of thousands of people chattering away, too busy to notice another person appearing beside them.

  
  


Jim stepped aside, trunk pulled after him. One by one his friends emerged, too. Jaylah shuddered, shaking off the sensation of being squeezed through one place to emerge from another.

  
  


“I still prefer coaches,” she shook her head, brushing imaginary lint from her jumper. “Ze horses are much nicer than this,”

  
  


“Suggest Thestrals at the next prefects meeting, then,” Uhura laughed, throwing an arm around Jaylah's shoulders. “Or just remember that you only have to do that a handful more times.”

  
  


“ _Dieu Merci_ ,” Jayah grinned, craning her head to find a clock nearby. “Ah! Got to go – I need to get to St. Pancras before my train leaves for Gare de Nour,”

  
  


She hugged Uhura back tightly, before pulling the others in for quick goodbyes.

  
  


“Write us back this time!” Jim called after her, shaking his head fondly as she darted through the swarm of muggles and witches around them.

  
  


“I will,” she called back, not looking but instead waving a hand absent-mindedly behind her.

  
  


“She won't,” Bones laughed, hoisting his backpack up onto his shoulder. “But I need to follow her lead, mum's going to guilt trip me if I'm late again,”

  
  


“Out the way,” a muggle grumbled, pushing past the group to get to platform 10. Uhura was pushed against Sulu, who gripped her arm carefully to balance her.

  
  


“Thanks,” she shook her head. “ _Muggles,_ ”

  
  


“Try accidentally walking on the right when you get off a tube,” Jim grinned as he reached for Bones, clapping him on the back. “See you in the New Year.”

  
  


“Have a good one,” Bones smiled, raising a ta'al to the others. Spock's expression flickered between surprised, confused, and finally touched. His tips of his ears, though he'd blame it on the cold, were tinted very faintly green.

  
  


“Later,” Bones said, beginning to walk backwards. He managed perhaps four steps this way before he collided with another student's trolley, an own screeching in dissatisfaction. Bones didn't blush, but he did turn quickly, raising his own cage to make sure that Hades was still sleeping soundly. Nothing seemed to bother the screech owl, save for being woken up before he was ready. Fortunately, he slept on.

  
  


Lilah cooed, grabbing Uhura's attention. “I know, I know,” Uhura cooed, sticking a finger between the bars for the bird to nibble at affectionately.

  
  


“She's impatient to get out and spread her wings, so I'll see you guys,” she said, hugging them before turning on the spot and disappearing, the soft _crack_ of disapparation muted by the bustling crowds.

  
  


Sulu's phone chimed, finally unaffected by the anti-technology charms around Hogwarts. It buzzed, and buzzed again, months' worth of communication coming in at once. Sulu cracked a smile, scrolling down the screen. “My boyfriend's parked outside,”

  
  


“Go,” Spock said, squeezing his shoulder. “We should, too,”

  
  


“Yeah, if those tuts are anything to go by,” Jim rolled his eyes, sliding closer to Spock to avoid another irritable commuter.

  
  


“Thanks,” Sulu smiled, raising a hand to wave. “See you in a month, I guess,”

  
  


“Definitely. Same spot, same time,” Jim nodded, waving back.

  
  


For a moment Jim and Spock watched as Sulu avoided the crowds, darting between people in order to get to the exit.

  
  


“You know,” Jim began, coyly, “we'd probably get soaked walking from here to Charing Cross,”

  
  


Spock looked down at him, both exasperated and fond, before he gripped the other boy's hand. He closed his eyes, ignoring Jim's smug smile, before he transported them his own way, soundless, and far smoother than any apparating wizard had yet to manage.

  
  


Jim's stomach didn't lurch, nor could he feel the ground slip from under his feet as the two covered the few miles between the two points in seconds. It was like laying back in the sea, floating peacefully without the ebbing of the waves beneath. He came back to himself when a raindrop, fat and icy cold, fell on his forehead.

  
  


“Sorry,” Spock said blankly, from where he was safe and dry under the doorway to the Leaky Cauldron.

  
  


“Right,” Jim glared playfully, pushing his now damp hair away from his face. “No room at the inn?”

  
  


Spock tilted his head, “We made a reservation,” he stated, though there was an uncertain incline to his tone. Jim shook his head.

  
  


“Old reference, being left in the cold and all. Nevermind,” he took Spock's hand, pushing the door open and making his way inside.

  
  


Almost instantly he was warmed from the inside out, roaring fireplaces and the comforting scents of butter beer and fire-whiskey hitting him at once.

  
  


Old Tom still stood behind the bar, cleaning a glass with an old rag. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Room 28's all made up for you,” he greeted, an earnest and welcoming smile in place. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  
  


Jim looked up at Spock, who simply looked back at him, expression giving nothing away. Jim shook his head.

  
  


“We had something on the train, thanks though,”

  
  


Tom waved a hand, a set of keys floated towards them past the heads of various drinkers and those seeking shelter from the typical English weather. Spock caught them with ease, as if they were a quaffle being sent his way. Jim let himself be proud of how far they'd come, both as a team and as a couple.

  
  


“Thank you,” Spock inclined his head, before leading them up the old staircase. The paint was peeling on the bannister, the aged wood underneath exposed to the elements. It was probably held together mostly by magic at this point, and Jim found himself wondering how the muggles coped with replacing things so often, when such an easy fix was available to them. Then again, Jim wondered a lot about muggles, so it didn't sit on his mind for long.

  
  


Their room was warm and cosy and everything that Jim had hoped for this holiday. Spock placed their bags neatly in the corner, the fire was already lit and so all Jim had to do was collapse onto the bed, letting out a soft sound of pleasure at the softness of the quilt and pillows. He hadn't noticed he had closed his eyes until he blinked them open – Spock was kneeling before him, unlacing his shoes and sliding them off. Jim grinned, wiggling sock-clad toes.

  
  


“Want your gift now?”

  
  


Spock raised an eyebrow, setting Jim's shoes down by the foot of the bed before standing. “We said we'd wait until the 25th. We haven't invented time travel yet, or did I miss that?”

  
  


“Insufferable,” Jim laughed, sitting up. “I got you two, though, so technically it's not cheating.”

  
  


“I'd like to re-define your understanding of ' _cheating_ ',” Spock said, but he reached for one of their bags nonetheless, humour glinting in his eyes. “I got you two, too.”

  
  


“Ass!” Jim beamed, rummaging through the bag Spock had placed between them as he sat. He was suddenly nervous, wondering how what he had done would be received. Positively, he hoped.

  
  


With shaking hands he removed a thin, rectangular package. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, but as carefully as Jim could muster. He didn't want to use magic on it, wanted to try his best with all aspects of it, and under the cold December light the messy spellotape stood out far worse than it had under the warm firelight and green hues of the Slytherin dorms.

  
  


Spock smiled softly as he took the parcel, holding it as if it were made of glass. Well, some of it was, but he didn't know that yet.

  
  


“Open it, then,” Jim said nervously, sitting on his hands to hide the way they shook.

  
  


Spock delicately picked at the tape, easing the paper apart as though it was draped in soft silks and lace. Jim worried his bottom lip. The paper parted to reveal a framed landscape, hand painted and mapped out. It was the mountains in the south, before the war. Before the giants had caused rockslides and the pixies had infested the rivers and greenery that grew there. It was the home that Spock longed to remember but could recall only glimpses of. Jim had spent weeks in the library planning, taking out every book he could on that area, emptying the shelves of maps and magical illustrations. He'd spent even longer than that sketching, teaching himself from books and old scrolls, and enchanting draft after draft before he had got it right. He had been pleased with this version, the way the clouds moved gently on the canvas, how the mountains cast shadows across a natural stone walkway. A lizard darted out from one of the rocks before hiding once more behind another. Spock swallowed, hard.

  
  


“Jim, this is beautiful.”

  
  


Jim visibly relaxed, exhaling softly as he took in Spock's expression. He was mesmerised, looking as if he'd seen a ghost, but in the most positive way.

  
  


“I'm glad you like it.”

  
  


Spock looked up then, eyes meeting Jim's instantly. “No, I love it.”

  
  


Jim was frozen; he had never heard Spock use that word, in all their years of knowing each other. It was special, he knew without being told. Spock's people weren't the most expressive when it came to their emotions, something which Spock had spent a long time coming to terms with, but now – now he was here, with Jim, and he _loved_ it.

  
  


“And you,” Spock said, even softer than he had before. “I love you, Jim.”

  
  


Jim, for all his planning and fantasies as to how this could play out, had never thought he'd hear that. His eyes stung but he didn't want to cry, wouldn't ruin this moment by making it about him, but oh God Spock _loved him._ “Thank you,” he said roughly, nails digging into his palms.

  
  


He laughed then, shaking his head. “Oh my God, you tell me you love me and I say ' _thank you_ '.”

  
  


“You're welcome,” Spock smiled, setting the picture aside gently. He shifted closer, raising both hands to cup Jim's face, thumbs brushing under his eyes to wipe a stray tear away. “You, James Kirk, have more than earned love.”

  
  


Jim gave a watery smile, leaning forwards to kiss Spock chastely, gently, hoping to convey all the affection he could in that small gesture. It was enough.

  
  


“Okay,” Jim sat back, slapping his hands down onto his knees. “My turn,”

  
  


Spock reached for a package wrapped far more carefully than Jim could ever hope to achieve. It was a book, that he could tell from the shape and weight of it, and Jim was curious to see what Spock thought he would love so much as to gift it to him.

  
  


He cast a smile towards Spock, trying to open it neatly as Spock had done, but Jim ended up ripping the paper after only moments of picking at the tape. The cover of an old, battered copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ was revealed, and Jim discarded the paper to examine it more closely. It was well loved, that much was true. Dog eared with a spine that was split more times than he could count.

  
  


“Open it,” Spock said.

  
  


Jim opened the front cover, mouth opening to form a silent 'oh'. There was writing on the front page, a neat scrawl which slanted down the page the way any inscription did when the page wasn't lined. _Property of George S. Kirk._

  
  


“Spock...”

  
  


“It had been donated,” Spock began, “Originally to a used book store, and then to the war museum. The museum changed their displays, and were kind enough to grant my request when I wrote to them asking to purchase it.”

  
  


“I've never read the tales of Beedle the Bard,” Jim said quietly, turning the pages as if they were made of gold. “And mom never really had time to read to me when I was a kid, so...”

  
  


The fact that he had never had something of his fathers, never touched something that he had touched, went unsaid. Spock had heard Jim speak of home, of how his mother had uprooted them back to Iowa after the war, selling the little Derbyshire cottage that her and George had lived in, furniture included.

  
  


“You're welcome,” Spock said softly, pleased that his judgement had been right.

  
  


“I love it, and you, too,” Jim laughed, wrapping his arms around Spock's lithe frame.

  
  


Spock relaxed into him, taking a moment to inhale the familiar scent of ink and _Jim_. They drew apart, both open and emotional, tending to scars they didn't know they still carried. Then Spock spoke, the mood lightening as he asked: “You never said, what is it that Leonard gave you?”

  
  


“Oh,” Jim laughed, blushing. “Take a look,”

  
  


He went to his bags, rummaging around before withdrawing a familiar small box. He tossed it to Spock who caught it, lifting the lid with care.

  
  


Inside lay a note, resting atop of a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube. The script was messy but so uniquely Bones that Spock couldn't help but smirk. _Stay safe, kids!_

  
  


“Do you think it will get much use?” Spock asked, poker face in play.

  
  


Jim grinned, sauntering back towards the bed and to Spock, all his easy confidence portrayed in a swagger that on anyone else would be ridiculous. On Jim, it was just attractive.

  
  


“I definitely think so.”

  
  


Jim reached the bed, standing in front of Spock. With his knee, he knocked Spock's legs apart, enough to stand between them as he rested his hands on the Elf's shoulders. “In fact,” he purred, speaking closely to Spock's face, “I'm almost certain.”

  
  


“Almost?” Spock tilted his head back, searching Jim's eyes.

  
  


“Well,” Jim smirked, fingers moving to tangle in Spock's hair. “Can't be sure until after the test drive,”

  
  


“I see,” Spock said. It was all he could respond with, for his mouth was occupied after the last syllable, pressed against Jim's own in a kiss that deepened almost as soon as it began. It was filthy, Jim's mouth was warm and wet, and Spock let himself be pushed back against the mattress, fingers sliding into Jim's belt loops.

  
  


It was a merry Christmas, indeed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ sirenramblings, come say hi!


End file.
